


Gentle Morn

by FoxVII



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: F/M, Mornings, cooking together, time family being the time family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-13
Updated: 2017-03-13
Packaged: 2018-10-04 06:18:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10270136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoxVII/pseuds/FoxVII
Summary: When Sara tries to make breakfast for Rip and the team, it doesn't quite go as expected. Thankfully, she has help.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [suitsflash (bikeross)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bikeross/gifts).



> Written for my darling Medha as a birthday present. Cross posted from my [tumblr](http://fox-vii.tumblr.com).

Cooking was chemistry.

After a year of listening to Palmer and Stein chatter away about science, Sara knew a thing or two about chemistry. For example, HCl was hydrochloric acid and shouldn't be touched with bare hands under any circumstances. She knew that pure sodium reacted with water and could be used as an explosive under certain circumstances (a tidbit that she greedily absorbed - it could come in useful). She knew that bromine and mercury were the only elements which were liquid at room temperature and that liquid nitrogen was really freaking cool (pun very much intended).

So yes, Sara knew a thing or two about chemistry.

Cooking? That was supposed to be way easier. People cooked all the time. It was supposed to be those simple basic things that anyone and everyone could do.

Whatever the hell this was? It wasn't easy.

Sara had all of one minute to study the charred remains of the first pancake before Gideon's fire detection systems came online and doused the mess hall in flame suppressants.

Something told her that the white fluff now coating what remained of the pancake mix wasn't quite edible. In fact, it probably went under the category of ' _inedible_ ' at best, and ' _downright poisonous_ ' at worst.

"Sara! What in God's..." Sara turned at the sound of Rip's voice. He ran his hand through his hair, surveying the mess. "What _are_ you doing?"

"Making breakfast," Sara answered, with a proud tilt of her head. A fleck of flour coated the end of her nose. Or maybe it was some flame suppressant. Who knows.

Rip eyed the carnage. "For what _species_?" he asked.

Sara's expression shifted into the territory of 'definitely not amused' as she tilted her head to the side, mouth tightening around the corners. "Ha ha. Very funny, Rip."

"No, honestly. What were you trying to do? You know that the dispensers provide us with enough rati--"

"The rations taste like butts," Sara countered, flatly.

"...Fair. They don't make for the...finest of _gustatory experiences_ , but they _are_ perfectly edible. Unlike..."

Sara huffed, colour rising to her cheeks. "Fine then. Don’t worry, I'll clean it up. I can _probably_ do that without setting fire to the kitchens," she muttered to herself. “You go. When you come back it’ll be spotless and don’t worry, I won’t try it again.”

Not after _this_  debacle, at any rate.

Maybe she should have gotten Mick to help her. It might've led to the same end result and, at least, she could blame the fire on someone else. Though, Sara knew full well that Mick Rory _was_ perfectly capable of doing things _without_  igniting a room, if he so wished. Case in point was the fact that Mick made the best baked goods out of everyone on the Waverider, and they all knew it. So, really, as far as shuffling the blame for a ruined kitchen went...Mick's shoulders might not have been the best person to rest it upon.

"I. No. _Sara_ ," Rip's tone was tinged with the same degree of exasperation normally reserved for Snart. "I only meant...what were you trying to accomplish?"

"I just said--"

"No, no. I wasn’t asking after immediate, obvious accomplishment of making breakfast...what I meant was... _why_?"

Sara tugged free one of the kitchen towels and wrung it in her hands for lack of anything better to do with them. "I wanted to make something for the team...for you," she admitted. She turned her back swiftly, scrubbing at the nearest mess - the length of counter beside her. (Only the rest of the kitchen to go.)

"That's...that's quite sweet of you, Sara." He sounded almost _proud_  of her and damn if that didn't set her off-guard. She scrubbed harder, watching as the streaks of batter and suppressant cleared away with each successive pass of the cloth.

"I just...wanted to do something. To help take care of everyone," she said. Miranda probably made him breakfasts, in that happy future of theirs - the one they were trying to save. If anything, she had hoped to make for a nice moment, something to help ease the grief that she knew he still carried over his lost family.

A warm hand came down on top of hers and she stopped moving. "Sara, you take care of us, all of us, in your own way," Rip said, gently. "You keep us all safe and alive. You're there to make sure that no one gets killed."

"By killing."

"By _protecting_ ," Rip insisted. "You mean more to me...to _us_ , than you know."

Sara stared up at him and, for a moment, neither spoke. Rip let go first, retracting his hand and coughing (more to clear the air than his throat). "So there's no need to try and help us through...food poisoning," Rip said, gesturing vaguely at the mess.

Sara snorted, covering her laugh. "You know, you were way cuter ten seconds ago with that speech," she informed.

Another startled cough. "I what--?"

Sara launched a spare kitchen towel at him. "Start cleaning."

The ensuing silence was only broken by the squeak of dishcloths rubbing over glass counter tops, and the occasional spray of water as they were rinsed. “Perhaps, once we’ve amended this disaster, I can show you how to make a real breakfast?” Rip offered.

Sara paused, tapping the end of her finger against the counter. Her nail clicked against the surface in a light tap-tap. “I can handle the batter,” she decided. “I used, to all the time before...with my family,” she said, remembering the bright Saturday mornings with Laurel and her father. This was years ago, of course, before the _Gambit_  sank and before either Lance sister bore the title of ‘Canary’. “So I take care of that while _you_ fry up the pancakes. Deal?”

“Deal,” Rip agreed, with a grin.

There was a shuffle near the rear of the kitchen and a muted yawn - Ray - followed by a low grumble - Mick, likely - and a thump from a shoulder catching against a wall, accompanied by muttered curse - Jax. No doubt Len and Kendra would be down shortly as well. Stein had been awake hours before Sara had, and was likely already down below decks, tinkering. He’d likely be back soon for a coffee refill.

“Better make it quick, Captain. The zombies have risen,” Sara commented, wryly. 

“Evidently. Well, since they’re here, I can’t see why everyone can’t assist. Many hands to feed the many mouths, as it were.” Rip raised his voice, turning to the group. “Dr. Palmer, if you could assist Sara with making the pancake batter...”

“Got it!”

“..and Mr. Rory, kindly man the fry pans with me, hm?”

“ _With_  you? You’re goin’ to have to keep up with _me.”_ Mick Rory was particular about the way his pancakes were cooked. 

“We shall see. Jefferson, if you could ask Gideon for some orange juice. We’ve glasses in that far cupboard there. And, Sara,” Rip dropped his voice, drifting back over to her. “Perhaps we could save a more... _personal_ cooking lesson for later?”

Sara tightened her lips to keep from smiling, and failed. “I’d like that.”

“Well look. It’s a regular party here,” Len commented in his usual drawl, strolling into the mess to drop his weight on a dining chair.

“Pancakes? Ooh, can we add cinnamon and banana slices?” Kendra asked, arriving shortly after.

“Though...” Sara said, in a low whisper. “I’m not quite sure when we’ll find the time with _this_  family.”

“Ah, you’re all _finally_  awake and, _industrious_ , I see. Good for you. Now, if I may just get past you, Mr. Palmer, I’d like my refill,” Stein said, trying to squeeze by the others to reach the coffee machine.

“It’s  _Doctor_  Palmer,” Ray countered, with a pout, as he shifted his bulk to one side, bumping into Mick who was trying to ready the skillets. 

“Watch yourself, Haircut.”

“Sorry!”

The chatter continued in the background as Rip snorted softly. “I suppose then, we’ll have to _make_ time.”

“I suppose so,” Sara agreed.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Feel free to send me prompts!


End file.
